


Deuces Still Wild

by GotTheSilver



Category: Push (2009)
Genre: F/M, Getting Together, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17020032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: Nick's used to gambling, it's his way of life.  Cassie's still the one thing he won't gamble on, for fear of losing it all.*“Six years,” Cassie says, dropping the flower on Nick’s chest.  “To the day.”Nick sighs, hand coming up to pick up the flower, turning it in his fingers.  “I’m sorry,” he says, avoiding Cassie’s eyes.“What for?”“I fucked up.”Cassie clambers onto the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard, long, bare legs stretched out alongside Nick, her knee bumping against his hip.  “You always fuck up,” Cassie says.  “It’s not news.”





	Deuces Still Wild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/gifts).



> It was so much fun to play with these characters, happy yuletide!

“Brought you a flower,” Cassie says, quiet as anything, a folded up piece of paper somewhat in the shape of a flower between her fingers.

Lifting his head from where he’s been face down on the thin, crappy motel room pillow, Nick smirks. “Oh really?” Coughing, he rolls onto his back, wincing when he feels the cuts scraping against the harsh bedsheets. They haven’t run across a friendly Stitch in months, been left to fix themselves up when they get into scrapes, and Nick’s getting tired of being covered in flakes of blood that the sad trickles of water in the motel showers don’t quite rinse off. “Because that ended so well the last time you did that.”

“Six years,” Cassie says, dropping the flower on Nick’s chest. “To the day.”

Nick sighs, hand coming up to pick up the flower, turning it in his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he says, avoiding Cassie’s eyes.

“What for?”

“I fucked up.”

Cassie clambers onto the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard, long, bare legs stretched out alongside Nick, her knee bumping against his hip. “You always fuck up,” Cassie says. “It’s not news.”

Staring up at the ceiling, paper flower still in hand, and trying to ignore the heat of her body next to him, Nick lets out a soft sigh. “Should’ve listened to you.”

“Duh.”

“Cassie—”

“Next time maybe don’t try running scams on underlings for a mob boss.”

“Who knew the mob was in Houston?” Nick sighs as he turns on his side, his vision immediately filled with Cassie’s legs, her skirt riding up almost obscenely high and he shifts, pressing his face against the fabric, his arm curling over her, flower dangling from his fingertips. Breathing her in, Nick closes his eyes as she scratches her fingers through his hair, humming under her breath like she always does when he’s done something dumb.

It’s a new routine. Kind of. Because Nick does dumb things like it’s going out of fashion.

*

They’ve been running for years, now. After Hong Kong, they still had that syringe and went on the hunt for Cassie’s mom. They’re still looking. They don’t have the syringe anymore.

Turns out, Division isn’t too keen on bargaining with people who set up their best agents to be killed.

*

When Nick wakes up, Cassie’s still next to him, awake and reading a copy of Less Than Zero she scrounged up at a secondhand bookstore. She likes books, likes browsing the second-hand ones, reading them while they’re holed up in motels and then, sometimes, telling Nick about them. Mostly, if she likes them she doesn’t have much to say; it’s when she hates them that she talks a lot, her voice carrying angrily as she rants about this character or that storyline.

“How is it?” Nick asks, his fingers trailing over her hip as he rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling, the damp patch above his head in the pattern of a dragon.

“I like it.”

“Good.” Nick rubs his eyes, swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, his back to Cassie. “We got time to eat?”

“No one’s coming to kill us in the immediate future,” Cassie says. “Are you sure you want to hang around here?”

“They got their licks in,” Nick says, standing up and stretching his arms over his head, healing skin pulling over his back. “They’ll leave me alone now.”

“Uh huh,” Cassie says, putting her book down.

Nick can hear the squeak of the bed as she stands up, and he turns around, a slow smile on his face when he sees her standing there with her arms folded over her chest, an eyebrow raised as she looks at him. “What?”

“You really want to risk it?”

“It’s not a risk, Cassie, I swear. I know how these guys work,” Nick says, walking around the bed to get closer to her. Brushing his fingers over her cheek, Nick tilts her head up, thumb under her chin. “I was doing this long before you came into my life, I’m good at it.”

“That’s not really something to brag about,” Cassie says, reaching up and grabbing his fingers. Nick goes with it, lets her hold on as they stand there, her fingers warm against his and Nick—it’s been a long time since he got laid. Not since that waitress in Lubbock, and the look Cassie shot him when he made it back to the motel was. Well. It’s been stuck in his head for months.

“Cassie,” Nick breathes out, his voice soft as she tangles their fingers together. “We should—”

“What?”

“Lets eat,” he says, tugging on her hand. “Pizza?”

“I’m tired of pizza,” she says, going with him, leaning down to grab her jacket. “Burgers.”

“Because that’s so much healthier,” Nick gripes as they head out of the room.

*

They leave Houston not long after Nick’s back heals, travelling through to Louisiana, hitching rides where they can get them. A friend of Hook’s gets them from Baton Rouge to New Orleans and once Nick sees the look on Cassie’s face as she steps out of the van, he knows they’re staying a while.

Slipping her hand in his, they walk down towards the French Quarter, watching the streetcars rumble past them. For all that the world has changed, New Orleans has stayed stubbornly the same; Division wanted to set up down here, Nick remembers Pinky telling him, but they couldn’t get anywhere, unable to crack the community, Sniffers hating the scents that permeate the city. It’s a haven, almost, and Nick thinks they deserve a break.

“Where are we staying?”

Nick looks over at her and shrugs, the humidity making his shirt stick to his skin, duffle bag in his other hand. “Wherever you want,” he says. “Within reason.”

Cassie shoots him a grin and Nick knows he’s in trouble.

Really, he’s been in trouble since the day they met.

*

“I knew I’d find you here,” Nick says, running his hand through Cassie’s hair. It’s got purple streaks, she managed to find a hair stylist less than 24 hours after they arrived; her hair’s shorter now than it was when they met, she had it chopped to her jawline after a run in with a Bleeder in Florida and it’s grown out to graze her shoulders.

“I like it here,” she says, stroking the cat that’s curled up on her lap. “It’s peaceful, and no one bothers me.”

Looking around the bookshop, Nick sips at his beer, nodding a hello at the owner who lets Cassie sit in here and read. She buys more books than she reads, which is why Nick thinks Carey doesn’t mind her spending so much time there; their little carriage house is starting to resemble the bookshop in a lot of ways, all they’re really missing is a cat.

“I got an hour,” Nick says, his apron shoved in the back pocket of his jeans. “Have lunch with me?” He waves the bag in front of her face. “I got bbq shrimp.”

Cassie closes her book and looks up at him before gently encouraging Juniper to the floor; unfolding her legs, her boots hitting the floor with a gentle thud, Cassie stands up and laughs as Juniper jumps back into the chair, curling up in the spot she left behind. Stopping at the desk, Cassie pays for the book and heads out with Nick.

They walk down to the water, sitting on a bench and watching tourists go by as they eat their po-boys. Nick’s been working as a bartender in the Quarter, with his easy smile and line in tight shirts, the tips flow freely and for once they’re not having to worry about money.

“There’s a boy who keeps coming into the bookshop when I’m there,” Cassie says around a mouthful of food. “I don’t like it.”

“He a Sniffer?”

“No, he’s not—he’s not anything. Carey thinks he likes me.”

Nick pauses, draining his beer to give him time to think. It’s not like he’s an idiot, he knows Cassie’s hot, it’s been slowly working its way under his skin since she was seventeen, and he’s spent the last two years trying to ignore it because—because it’s _Cassie_ and he can’t risk losing her. Can’t risk anything that ends in her not being with him day in, day out. It’s selfish, Nick knows that, but then he never claimed to be a good man.

“What do you think?” he asks quietly. “We’re safe here, if you wanted to date then—”

“I don’t.”

“Cass—”

“I don’t, okay,” Cassie says, twisting the paper towel in her fingers. “Nick, just—”

“Okay,” Nick says, raising a hand. “Okay.”

Cassie turns to look at him, her face hard. “You haven’t fucked anyone in a while.”

“You’ve been keeping track?” Nick says, raising an eyebrow before taking a bite of his po-boy.

“When you go from screwing every woman you meet to this weird celibacy trip then it’s kind of hard not to notice.”

Nick sits back on the bench, watching an elderly couple trying to take a selfie in front of the water, avoiding Cassie’s eyes on him. “Maybe I’m growing up,” he says, fingers tapping against his leg. “Turning thirty next week,” he continues. “Never thought that I’d make it this far.”

“Old man,” Cassie says with a snort. “And still sharing a bed with a teenager.”

“Hey,” Nick winces, her comment hitting too close to home for his liking. “You turn twenty in a month.”

Cassie eyes him, her face thoughtful. “Will that make you feel better?” she asks.

“I don’t—” Nick breaks off and glances at his watch. “I gotta get back to work.”

“Of course you do,” Cassie says with a sigh. “You know, Nick,” she calls as he gets up. “You might be turning thirty, but you sure don’t act like it.”

*

There was one night, not long after Cassie turned eighteen, when Nick thought that—maybe. Maybe he’d risk it. It had been a long few months, they’d annoyed a Pusher in Portland who’d sent his pet Bleeders after them, and it took a lot of called in favours to get away from them for good. After tracking down a Stitch who owed Pinky a favour, Nick crawled into bed on a crappy motel and woke up to Cassie drinking vodka straight from the bottle.

She’d been crying, her eyes rimmed red and her eyeliner smeared, and Nick kind of hated himself for thinking she looked beautiful. Hated himself for a lot of things. Cassie’d got into the bed, pressed herself up against Nick’s body and shoved her face against his neck, lips dragging over his neck, her hands sliding onto his hips.

Nick still remembers how she’d felt, her body hot against his, his hands instinctively curling around her waist and tugging her closer. He’d said nothing until she’d moved her head, resting their foreheads together, mouths brushing against each other.

“I’m fine,” he’d said, as quietly as possible. “I’m alive.”

“You almost weren’t.”

“But I am.”

Her breath had hitched and she’d moved until their lips were pressed together and Nick—he gave in for a moment. For more than a moment. He’d given in until Cassie’d managed to roll him on his back and climb on top of him, and then it was just too real.

She’d cried again when he’d gently moved her off him. When he’d held her and told her he was sorry.

When they woke up, neither of them talked about it.

Nick hasn’t forgotten it, and he’s not stupid enough to think that Cassie has either.

*

Cassie’s already asleep in their bed when he gets off work; another bartender hadn’t showed up so Nick had ended up pulling a double and bargaining it to get his birthday off. The carriage house they found is quiet, in a not so great neighbourhood, but it’s cheap and Nick’s got enough of a reputation locally now as a Mover that it keeps them safe, sometimes gets people asking him for help.

Stripping down to his boxers, Nick looks at Cassie sprawled across their bed, sleeping soundly. There’s no reason for them to still be sharing a bed, when they were running and grabbing snatches of rest in whatever rooms they could find it made sense, but they’re settled, almost and—Nick shakes the thought out of his head and gets into bed, tugging the sheet over his legs.

“Nick?” Cassie mumbles into her pillow. “S’you?”

“It’s me,” he says, turning on his side, unable to resist tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Go back to sleep.”

“You’re late.”

“Worked a double,” he says quietly, watching the late night light play across her skin. “Won’t be working on my birthday, though.”

“We’ll celebrate,” she says, clumsily reaching an arm out to press her fingers against his bare chest, ending up resting over his heart.

“Yeah,” Nick says, covering her fingers with his own and rolling onto his back. “Okay, Cassie.”

*

The morning of his birthday, Cassie wakes him up before pushing a cupcake in his face, smearing the frosting on his nose with a big smile. “Congrats on reaching old age, Nick.”

Nick stares at her before grabbing the cupcake out of her hand; swiping his finger through the remains of the frosting, he dabs some on Cassie’s nose and smirks. “Thanks,” he says as he peels the wrapper off, shoving it in his mouth.

“Elegant,” Cassie says, throwing his jeans at him. “Get dressed, I have plans.”

Nick doesn’t want to know what it says about him that after he’s finished the cupcake, he obeys Cassie without a second thought, heading straight to the bathroom to wash the frosting from his face and brush his teeth. Tugging his jeans up over his hips, Nick walks back into the bedroom and picks up the top that Cassie’s left out for him. “You gonna pick all my clothes out now?”

“I should,” Cassie yells back. “You’d look better.”

“Aren’t you meant to be nice to people on their birthday?”

“Sure,” Cassie says, walking into the bedroom, weilding a mug of coffee that she hands over to Nick. “Here, me being nice.”

Nick watches as she walks over to the old and marked up dresser they picked up from a dude on Frenchman, picks up a lipstick and paints her lips with it, a dusty pink that makes her smile when she looks at her reflection. Sipping his coffee, Nick comes up behind her and meets her eyes in the mirror. “You look good,” he says quietly. “You gonna tell me what we’re doing today?”

“Tourist shit,” she says, absently rearranging the trinkets on the dresser. “All the things we haven’t done while we’ve been living here.”

“That—”

“What?”

Taking a chance, Nick leans down and presses a kiss against her jaw, watching in the mirror as her eyes close in reaction. “That sounds good,” he says. “Almost normal.” He takes a few steps back and grabs his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

“Yeah,” Cassie says, running a hand through her hair before grabbing a short scarf she picked up in the market, tying it around her neck with a simple knot. “Aquarium first.”

*

They walk to the aquarium along Canal, watching people already stumbling towards Bourbon, Nick greeting the people he knows heading home after a long night at work. There’s something to be said about the ability to operate in the shadows, staying under the radar while earning some money, but being out during daylight hours is something different. Shinier, kind of, though New Orleans never loses that vibe that makes it what it is, whatever time of day you happen to walk through it. Cassie takes his hand as they weave their way through people spilling out of hotels, eager to explore all that New Orleans has to offer.

It’s almost peaceful by the aquarium; Cassie pays for the tickets and they walk in, dodging some excited children on a school trip. It’s dark, a stark contrast to the bright light they’ve just walked in from and Nick pauses by the first tank to let his eyes adjust.

“You know,” he says quietly, watching the fish swim by him. “I don’t think I’ve ever done this.”

“Really?”

“Not unless you count the time those tanks exploded on us the day we met.”

Cassie fixes him with a withering glare, something she’s only got better at in the years they’ve been travelling together. “Seriously?”

“There were fish.”

“I swear,” Cassie says, dragging him along by the hand to the next room. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

Staring at their joined hands as he follows her, Nick shakes his head. “Me either.”

*

The aquarium is followed by a streetcar ride, then they amble down to Parkway for po-boys and a few shots of whiskey for Nick, a vodka soda for Cassie, and by the time they make it back to the Quarter Nick is feeling loose; it’s a Thursday night so it’s a comfortable kind of crowded, not too many people but enough that there’s a buzz in the air.

“No,” Nick says as Cassie points to the hurricane sign that hovers outside a bar. “No way.”

“I thought we were being touristy,” she says, a slight pout on her face as Nick subtly Moves a bunch of broken glass out of the path of some tourists wearing flip flops. “What’s more touristy than having a tacky drink in a giant plastic cup?”

“Do you also want to be so touristy that you add to the piles of vomit we have to step around in the morning?”

“I can handle my alcohol, Nick.”

The problem is that she’s right. Still only nineteen, but she’s a drinking pro, all the years of drinking to help see more clearly having trained herself up to reach a point of drunkenness that never quite tips over into being paraletic. Nick takes a step back and looks at the line for hurricanes. “Okay,” he says. “But only one, then I’m switching back to liquor.”

There’s a bright grin on Cassie’s face and she leans in, kissing the corner of his mouth sloppily, and for a moment, Nick would swear the world stops. He doesn’t move as she gets in line, fumbling in her pockets for some cash, and it takes a roll of her eyes for him to wake up and join her, taking the bright green container from the bartender. It’s somehow already sticky and he looks at Cassie with a sigh as he takes a sip through the straw.

“Come on,” she says, crooking her finger at Nick and raising her eyebrows. “Let’s go be tourists.”

Nick slings an arm over her shoulder and kisses the top of her head, the alcohol blurring the last few edges he’s worked so hard to keep defined, the lines he’s been desperate to keep solid, to keep safe all the things he’s been trying not to gamble away.

*

Cassie’s on the dancefloor, spinning from one dance partner to the next, a drink in her hand as she goes. Her scarf is tied up in her hair now, keeping it off her face as she moves, and Nick can’t take his eyes off her; it’s not his place, but whenever someone looks like they’re getting a little too handsy with her, he Moves them, greets them with a big smile when they look up to see where it came from.

They get the message.

The glass by his hand gets filled up and he nods his thanks, slides a couple of bucks across the sticky lacquered surface and picks up the glass, slowly sipping the whiskey as he continues watching Cassie.

She knocks back her drink and frowns at the empty glass, waves off the person next to her and heads up the two steps towards the bar where Nick’s perched on a stool.

“Another?” he asks, already signalling the bartender as she nods. “You enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” she says, stepping close, a little too close for Nick’s tenuous grip on his boundaries, her hands resting on his thighs. “You should come join me.”

“Have you seen me dance?”

“No,” Cassie says. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“Cassie—”

“Please?”

And, goddamnit, but Nick can count on one hand the amount of times Cassie has said please to him over the years. “You don’t get to use that again for at least another year,” he says. “It’s unnatural.”

“Me being polite?”

“Yes,” Nick says as he slips off the barstool. Cassie hasn’t backed away an inch and he can feel the heat radiating off her body, her hands having moved from his thighs, fingers pressing against the thin fabric of his top above the waistband of his jeans. “You’ve never been polite,” he says, grabbing his drink and tossing it back.

“That’s because it’s pointless in our line of work,” Cassie says, picking up her own drink. “And I can be polite to people who aren’t you.”

Nick shakes his head and laughs, putting his glass on the bar. “You want me to dance, or what?”

“Come on then, birthday boy.”

It’s hot, sweaty, and sparks a distant memory of life before he was on the run, when he could risk having a little fun because Division wouldn’t be waiting for him if he let his guard slip. There’s flashes in his slightly drunken brain, clubs after he got a little extra cash, girls pressing their bodies against him, his hands sliding along their skin, and—.

Memory. That’s all it is. Though, sometimes, with the amount of Pushers he’s met, he wonders how true those memories are.

Cassie is right up against him, her body moving with the beat, and Nick bites his bottom lip as she turns, every move sending his blood southwards. He’s not stupid enough to think she doesn’t know what she’s doing—he can see it in the glint of her eyes, the twist of her mouth each time she looks at him. It’s like a game, but also not, because neither of them can risk losing the other.

There’s acceptable risks and unacceptable risks, and this is playing with fire. It’s risking burning up all the lines Nick’s put in place and he—Cassie wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t mean it, but—.

Nick’s about to back away, head towards the relative safety of the bar, but then the music switches—not slow, never slow at this time in the Quarter—and Cassie’s moving his hands to slide onto her hips, her face just that little bit too close to pretend that this isn’t as big of a deal for her as it is for him and she—.

She tastes like the vodka sodas she’s been drinking all day.

His hands are soft against her, one sliding under the edge of her tank top, feeling her heated skin as he slips his other hand into her hair; Nick knows, now, there’s no going back after this. It’s all or nothing, cards on the table, and Nick’s finally ready to gamble it all.

They’re surrounded by people, bodies bumping into them each way they move, and Nick pulls her closer, smiles against her mouth when she lets out a gasp, when her hands dig into the small of his back. His dick’s hard, pressing against the seam of his jeans, and he wants nothing more than to give into his base instincts, to find an empty bathroom stall and lose himself in Cassie.

“Cass—”

“If you’re going to say we can’t do this, I’ll cut your dick off,” she says firmly, and Nick can’t help but laugh.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then what?” Cassie asks, her voice raised so Nick can hear her over the music.

“Let’s go home,” he says, his fingers playing over her hip. He waits for her reaction, eyes studying her face, and something in his chest loosens when she nods, fingers hooking into a belt loop as she leads them out of the bar.

*

There’s a moment, a split second when Nick closes the door behind them, that he thinks this won’t happen; that he’s going to wake up and Cassie will be gone. A moment where he thinks this is a Push.

But then Cassie’s mouth is on him, her hands tugging at his sweat drenched t-shirt and Nick’s never known anything to feel so real. It’s a clumsy dance towards the bedroom, his hip banging against the trinkets they’ve managed to fill the house with, Cassie tripping over her own feet, but when they finally make it there it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

Nick watches Cassie strip off the few clothes she’s wearing, her tank top dropped to the floor, skirt kicked off to the side, until she’s standing there in her underwear, her boots still on her feet. “Well?” she says, raising an eyebrow at Nick, a satisfied smile on her face as she meets his eyes, taking a few steps forward until she’s so close all Nick would have to do is lean forward.

So he does.

Catching her mouth in a deep kiss, his hands curl around her body, fingertips skimming the waistband of her underwear. The flimsy bralette she’s wearing is sticking to her skin, almost translucent, and Nick hooks his fingers in the strap, tugging gently. “Off,” he says hoarsely. “Jesus, Cassie, I—”

“You too,” she says, her hand brushing over the bulge in his jeans, pressing just enough to make Nick groan. “Let me see.”

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other in various states of undress before; there’s zero time for modesty when you’re running for your life, but this—there’s a weight in the air that Nick would swear he can feel. “Don’t take them off,” he says, when Cassie goes for her underwear. “Just—let me.”

She pauses for a moment, looking at him with a curious gaze, before she nods, sitting on the edge of the bed looking for all the world like everything Nick never knew he wanted. Quickly stripping out of his t-shirt, Nick kicks his sneakers off, uses his powers to get his socks off because there’s never a good way to do that, and he’s damned if he’s going to take his eyes off Cassie.

“Nick, what—”

“Do you trust me?” he asks as he kneels down in front of her, his hands running up her thighs. “Cassie, do you—”

“You know I do.”

“Then lay back,” he says, turning his head and kissing the inside of her thigh. He closes his eyes when he feels her hands running through his hair, lightly pulling where he’s let it grow out while they’ve been in New Orleans. Cassie’s grip loosens and he looks up to see her falling back against the bed, the bright blue bedspread contrasting with the streaks in her hair. Hiding a smile against her skin, Nick pulls her forward, pushing her knees apart and, without waiting, he presses his tongue against the fabric of her underwear, blood rushing through him when she instantly reacts.

He’s never asked if someone else has touched her like this, if, over the years, someone else has got her off, has used their mouth, their fingers, their cock to make her come. Nick’s never wanted to know. Not because it matters, not because he needs her to be a virgin, but because if he started thinking about it then he wouldn’t’ve been able to stop.

She’s wet already, and Nick keeps teasing her through her underwear until it’s soaked through; until she’s swearing at him, threatening to kick him in the head, and he’s laughing, fingers hooking into the edges of the fabric and pulling them down. Cassie lets out a relieved sigh and Nick gets back to work, his tongue sliding against her cunt, letting himself get lost in her taste, the sounds she’s making; he backs off a little and presses a finger inside her, slowly, listening to the hitch in her breath as he goes, his other hand stroking the skin of her inner thigh.

“Nick, I want—” Cassie breaks off as he gets his mouth on her clit, her hands starting to twist in the bedspread. “Oh fuck you,” she breathes out as he slides two fingers in her this time, his stubble scraping across her soft skin as he sets about finding all her secrets, wanting her to come, wanting her to remember this—him between her legs—for the rest of her life.

Cassie’s hands reach down, gripping his hair, and she tells him not to move, to keep fucking her with his fingers and she—his mouth is on her when she comes, her knee bashing into his shoulder as her body shakes with it, and Nick knows, right there, that this is it. That he’d bring down the entire world to keep her safe.

Detangling himself from her limbs, Nick crawls onto the bed, hands running down Cassie’s body, leaning over and kissing her softly. “You good?” he asks, quietly, tips of his fingers trailing over her stomach as she nods. “We don’t have—”

“Nick,” Cassie interrupts, grabbing his hand that’s on her stomach and holding it firmly. “If you don’t fuck me, then I’ll sell you out to Division.”

“Ouch, Cassie,” Nick says, laughing as he shuffles off the bed. “That’s a cruel thing to say to a dude who just made you come.”

Sitting up, Cassie laughs, leaning down to unzip her boots, kicking them off to the side where they crash into the rickety bedside table. “Come here,” she says, reaching for him, her fingers deftly unfastening his jeans. “I want to see you.”

Nick’s not shy, hasn’t ever been shy when it comes to this, but when his jeans are off, his boxers briefs on the floor, and Cassie’s got her hand around his dick with a curious smile on her face, part of him wants to crawl inside himself. “Cass—”

“One day I’m going to blow you,” she says, thoughtfully, her fingers running along his length.

“Jesus, Cassie,” Nick says, closing his eyes briefly and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you—” he breaks off with a deprecating laugh. “As much as I want to impress you, I’m not going to last long and if you— _fuck_ —” Nick’s mouth falls open at the feel of Cassie’s tongue flicking over the head of his dick. “Cassie—”

She grins up at him before letting go of his dick. “Get on the bed,” she says, and Nick nods, unable to think of any reason why he should argue with her. “You don’t need to impress me,” she carries on, rooting around on the floor and making a triumphant noise when she holds up her bag. “This isn’t some kind of fairytale where the princess has been waiting for her prince to deflower her—”

“Believe me, that’s not what I’m thinking,” Nick interrupts as she pulls things out of her bag, a wicked smile on her face when she holds up a pack of condoms. “And even if I were,” he continues, raising an eyebrow. “I’m definitely not now.”

“Asshole,” Cassie says, somehow sounding fond with it. “I want to ride you,” she says, flicking the pack onto his chest.

Nick narrows his eyes at her as he picks up the pack, opening it and grabbing one of them where they’ve fallen onto the bed. “Have you—did you _See_ this?”

“I—”

“Cassie.”

“Since I was sixteen,” she says, getting back on the bed. “Not details, nothing I could ever—but it was always you. Always at night. Sometimes I’d wake up and you’d be so close to me, still asleep, that it almost felt real, but I knew it wasn’t. Knew that it wasn’t time yet.”

“Did you draw us?” Nick asks, pressing a kiss against her shoulder. “Cassie?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “They weren’t like the other visions, I thought that they were dreams, that it was me wanting—but then one happened during the day and I knew.”

Nick’s silent, doesn’t know the right words to say, and doesn’t want to break whatever this is with the wrong ones. Instead, he tangles a hand in Cassie’s hair and kisses her, trying to send it all through physical touch instead of anything else.

He lets her climb into his lap, holds her close as they kiss, as he gets used to the feel of her bare skin against his, of her cunt sliding against his dick in an imitation of fucking until they’re both breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. “Condom,” he mumbles against her mouth. “We gotta—” he breaks off, his left hand blindly searching the bed for one, unable to hide his grin when he finally grabs one.

Quickly unwrapping it, he rolls it down his length, feeling Cassie’s eyes on him as he does, when Nick looks up, meets her gaze, he nods, and then she’s using his shoulders to pull herself up. He steadies himself, one hand at the base of his dick as Cassie lines herself up; he thinks he should be holding his breath, that he should be doing something that makes this moment feel as big as it is, but he doesn’t. Just watches Cassie as she bites her bottom lip, as she slowly lowers herself onto him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“I didn’t think it—”

“What?”

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” Cassie says when she’s fully seated, her legs either side of him.

“Like what?” Nick asks, softly kissing a pattern down her throat.

“Like everything.”

There’s nothing Nick can say to that, because it’s true, it feels like everything; having her like this _is_ everything, makes him believe that whatever else is happening around them—if Division come for them tomorrow—if they can hold onto this feeling, then they’ll make it through.

Then, Cassie starts moving, and he’s lost to everything except the feel of her. Nick nips at her skin, smiling against the warmth of it when she lets out a noise, when he’s done something right, something she likes. It’s heady, being allowed to be the person who brings this out of Cassie; the person who has her digging her short nails into his skin in frustration when he grips her hips to hold her there, wanting to savour the feeling of being inside her.

It doesn’t take much after that, Nick’s honestly amazed he’s lasted as long as he has, but then Cassie’s whispering in his ear, telling him to make her come, and it’s all he can do to get his fingers on her clit while still fucking her slowly and then—.

Then she’s coming, her arms wrapped around his neck, mouth on his, her teeth scraping against his bottom lip and that’s it—his orgasm’s punched out of him, and he’s left clinging onto her, trying to catch his breath.

“Holy shit, Cassie,” he breathes out, kissing her softly. “You—was that—”

She rubs their noses together, an intimate gesture that Nick would swear makes his heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” she says. “I knew it would be.”

And all Nick can do is laugh.

*

Waking up to Cassie sprawled over him is nothing new, after bad days, bad nights, Nick would find her like this, seeking out comfort that she didn’t try and seek out during the day. Cassie sprawled across him naked, however, is a new thing. Nick blinks, his slow to wake mind adjusting to this, to what looks to be the new normal; trailing his fingers along Cassie’s bare back, Nick smiles up at the ceiling, images from the night before flashing into his brain.

Raising a hand, he closes the gap in the drapes, getting rid of the harsh sunlight streaming onto his face.

There’s a few moments of quiet before Cassie rubs her face against his chest and sighs, turning her head. “You’re not freaking out, right?” she asks.

“After everything we’ve been through, you think last night would freak me out?”

Cassie pauses where she’s been pressing her fingers against his chest, and Nick can feel her smile against his skin. “Yes,” she says, bluntly.

“You should have more faith in me,” he says, tugging at the ends of her hair. “I’m good. We’re good. We are good, right?”

“Yes, Nick, we’re good.”

*

Nick’s entire life has been stumbling from one risk to another, has been about making the gambles that he knows he might regret, the gambles that no one in their right mind would make.

This thing, with Cassie? Whatever happens around them, Nick knows, now, that it’s not a gamble. It’s a sure thing.


End file.
